


Oliver's story 2013

by MMWalker2021



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMWalker2021/pseuds/MMWalker2021
Summary: Oliver's story 30 years after the golden summer he met Elio at his parents villa in northern Italy 1983.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Oliver's story 2013

Call me by your name- Oliver’s story- 2013

I had made the decision to sell my large house. My children were grown up with lives of their own and with my wife’s death last year, the house seemed too empty and large with just me rattling around in it, like the last pea in a can. My son was helping me go through the house and decide what to move, what to discard and what to give away. So many memories and so much stuff you collect in 28 years.

As I was packing the books from my library my son came in and said “Dad, can we talk a bit? I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, let me get these boxes off the chairs.”

I lifted the boxes and set them gently on the floor, as I stood up my back gave a loud CRACK and we both burst out laughing.

“I am getting old!” I exclaimed. “Have a seat son and tell me what is on your mind.”

He looked at me as if he was searching for the right words to begin, “Mom gave me some things before she died. A card, a note and her diary.” He handed me a card in a yellowed envelope and said, “This first, Dad.”

I looked at the envelope and it was addressed to me, at an address from many years ago. The return address was E. Perlman, Crema, Italy. I removed the card from the envelope and noticed it was a watercolor print of the villa, with a slightly shaking hand, I opened it. It was dated December 31, 1999, I read.

Elio,

Thinking of you on the eve of a new century. I burn for your touch once again and your kisses, on this New Year’s Eve. I will always remember our brief time together and wish you happiness.

Oliver

I sat there completely stunned for a moment and looked up when my son said, “Dad, are you ok?”

“Fine, fine.” I replied, “This was just unexpected, your mother never showed me this and never mentioned it.”

“I know.” My son replied, “That is the rest of the story, here.”

He handed me a note written my wife’s spidery handwriting.

HELP YOUR FATHER. Was all it said  
“What did she mean?” I asked.

“She explained that in her diary. You loved this man, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Was all I could reply.

“Mom knew you did too and that is why she never showed you the card. She was afraid, she was afraid you would leave to be with him.”

“I could never have done that.” I replied. “I made a commitment to your mother and I always live up to my commitments.”

“Why did he address the card to Elio and sign it Oliver?”

“It was a promise we made to each other during that summer so long ago.”

“I have a confession to make, Dad. Elio and I have been writing to each other for almost six months.”

“What? Why?” was my startled response.

“I had to get to know this man, that you have loved for 30 years. I had to understand. I had to understand your pain and to hear about his pain to help you both.”

‘So, you know everything?”

“Not everything, but enough. There were times as I was growing up that you would get this distant and introspective look on your face, tinged with sadness. You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”

“There’s no use being coy about it, yes I was. He left a hole in my heart that would open from time to time. That doesn’t mean I loved your mom any less.”

“I know that, Dad. I like him, I really do. I can see why you fell in love with him. I cannot imagine the pain you must have been going through all these years, being in love with someone you couldn’t be with.”

“You must hate me.” I looked away.

My son came, knelt by my chair and took one of my hands and said, “No, Dad, I love you more than ever. You are stronger than I ever could have imagined. I don’t think I could have endured, what you must have gone through for 30 years.”

‘Well there is nothing to be done about it now.”

“Not so fast, Dad.” He replied with a grin.

“What do you mean?” I asked with a shaky voice.

“That is what mom was talking about in her note. She loved you and wanted you to be happy. I am supposed to make that happen. I already made the arrangements for your trip to Crema, Elio will meet you at the Rome airport."

“Oh no no no, I cannot open that pain again, for either of us, he has probably moved on by now and forgotten about me.”

“No, Dad, he hasn’t, he misses you too. We all want you to be happy.”

“All?” I questioned.

“Yes ALL. When I told Rebecca the story, she cried for hours. So long in fact I thought she broke something.” He laughed.

“I’m nervous.” I said, sounding so much like Elio on our first night together in my room at the villa.

“I know you are, Dad.” He smiled. “That is why I made the arrangements for you because I knew you never would.”

“When do I leave?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.” He replied. “I am staying overnight to get you to the airport in the morning.”

The next day as we said goodbye at the airport, he said “Just to let you know, you are going to be a grandpa, again.”

“Congratulations son, when is the baby due?”

“In the spring or early summer and we have decided if it is a boy, we are going to name him Elio.”

I was very surprised and touched by his announcement.

“Besides,” he said, “Elio may end up as one of his grandpas.”

We hugged and I thanked him and boarded the plane.

I settled into my seat on the plane and once we were airborne over the Atlantic, I had time to think about what I was going to say to Elio. It has been thirty years and I can still remember the taste of his skin against my lips, the scent of peaches hanging ripe and full, from the branches, in the orchard of the villa during that golden summer. So much time has passed. Did he feel the same? Did he hate me? Was this some elaborate ruse to hurt me, the way I had hurt him so long ago. Doubt began to creep into my brain.

I had been following Elio’s career since he graduated from college and even went to a concert where he was the guest piano soloist. I wanted to see him afterwards, but I could not gather the courage and doubted he would even remember me.

The memories of that summer had sustained me during some of the dark times in my life. I was afraid to see him again. If he rejected me, it would shatter that memory into many shards like a discarded mirror. We had come full circle. Now I was the one scared and unsure. I was the one wondering if he would love me as I loved him.

I am now fifty-six years old, an old man, at least in the eyes of others but in my heart and mind, I am still twenty-six and full of adventure, excitement and hope. My friends used to comment that I never seemed to age, when, in reality I was caught in a time bubble, that encapsulated that summer in 1983 and fed me like an energy source. I saw a recent picture of Elio a month ago taken at some historical preservation event and he has changed very little since 1983. His hair is short now and a beard shot with gray, very much like his father’s.

I have been active and athletic all my life, so I had also changed very little in the years between then and now, myself. My hair is a bit thinner and has gone gray, but my eyes are the same deep pools of emotion, searching, searching, searching.

They say that sixty is the new thirty and I have to say that I don’t feel much different at fifty-six than I did at twenty-six. I still dance enthusiastically to “Love my way” by the Psychedelic Furs and still say the word “Later” to say so long. Too much thinking, I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes and fell asleep to the memories of laughter, long talks and love.

I awoke when the plane landed with a final bump at the Rome airport. According to my son, Elio would be waiting for me at the entrance to the concourse. We were going to spend a few days in Rome before heading to Crema and the villa he now owned after the death of his father.

I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead bin and exited the plane into the spacious airport. I had a moment of panic and my heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest. Was this a mistake? Am I wrong to do this? Has he forgotten me? I pushed those thoughts from my mind as casually as you wave a fly from a slice of pie.

To mock me even further “Love My Way” began to flow from the speakers throughout the airport. My heart pounded in time to the music.

I could see Elio standing at the entrance to the concourse. He was at 47 still the handsome young man from 30 years ago. The gulf of time between us melted away and I was back in 1983 during that summer. My eyes met his and I hoped he would see what is in my heart. I never stopped loving him in all these years, we were connected, like the tiny spark I felt when we first shook hands at the villa.

He held my gaze for a moment and looked down, in a gesture so common that summer, as if he avoided my eyes to keep from seeing what he didn’t want to see or to keep me from seeing his pain.

I dropped my suitcase, could hold back no longer and embraced him with my hands around his waist. He laid his forehead on my chest as he had done so many times that summer. Every emotion that I held for so long, came roaring back. I kissed the top of his head and he said.

“I cannot believe that you are here.”

I ran my hands through his hair and rotated his head up to see his eyes. What I saw there was Love, he still loved me but also fear that I would leave him alone once again.

I buried my face in his shoulder and I could feel him shudder against me.

“Oliver” I whispered in his ear.

“Elio” He whispered back.

“I remember everything, as I said I would.”

We kissed openly and unashamed. Thirty years have passed since we had to hide what we felt. This was a different time and this time I would not allow this to disappear and I will forevermore, call you by my name.


End file.
